


Humble Bones

by mytimehaspassed



Category: The Following
Genre: F/M, M/M, Murder, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:50:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe gives him the name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humble Bones

**HUMBLE BONES**  
THE FOLLOWING  
Paul/Jacob; Jacob/Emma  
 **WARNINGS** : Sort of spoilers, at least up until 1.04; mentions of violence and murder.  
 **NOTES** : Goes along with this [fanmix](http://mytimehaspassed.tumblr.com/post/42882603728) right here.

Joe gives him the name.

Jacob says, “Will,” his voice open, honest, awed.

Joe smiles and says, his orange jumpsuit glinting underneath the harsh lights of the prison visiting room, says, “Desire, wish, consent.” He is beautiful here, beautiful in a way that Emma would never be beautiful, Paul would never be beautiful, and Jacob presses his fingertips to the bottom of the glass, just to be closer, just to feel safe.

Joe doesn’t always speak in riddles, in poetry, but when he does, Jacob pays attention.

Joe says, “Choice,” his voice soft and lyrical, his words only for Jacob.

Jacob smiles, pressing his fingers harder, hoping, hoping, hoping just to feel Joe’s warmth.

He nods and says, “Will.”

***

It’s three years with Paul, moving in and out of domesticity like it’s second nature to him, sometimes warm and loving in front of Sarah, sometimes fighting in the space where their closet butts up against Sarah’s closet, fighting so she can hear, and Jacob imagines her pressed tight against the wall, trying not to be nosy, but needing to hear the harsh words they whisper to each other, so she can reassure herself that they are normal, relentlessly normal, far from the pedestal she once thrust Joe upon.

They fight and fuck and ply Sarah with enough liquor to make her forget that she doesn’t know that much about them, to forget to question why they’re so devoted to her, why they’re always around. Jacob doesn’t ever talk about Emma, doesn’t ever speak her name when he presses Paul against the bed at night, kisses the slope of his shoulder in the shower, places a hand on the small of his back as he gets up to wash the dishes, Sarah gazing at them through happy, but jealous eyes, wondering out loud how she will ever be able to sustain a relationship like theirs.

Paul admonishes her gently and leans down to tug lightly on Jacob’s bottom lip with his teeth, and they’re both smiling, and Jacob remembers, tells himself to remember, that this is all just one big game for them, one big tribute to the man Sarah will never forget, will never get over.

Jacob knows, like Paul knows, that this has always been for Joe.

***

Jacob makes Paul call him Will when they’re in bed.

It’s the persona he likes, the second grade teacher who lives with his incredible boyfriend, who vacations in bed and breakfasts along the East Coast, who’s boring and banal and personable, who has his whole life mapped out and ready for consumption.

Paul doesn’t mind when he calls him Billy, his mouth on Jacob’s neck, biting down, hard, but it’s probably only because Paul’s also playing somebody else, somebody who likes the hard planes of Jacob’s body, likes the way Jacob kisses him, soft, small, somebody who doesn’t dream of tying up women and watching them bleed.

Sarah comes over and Jacob doesn’t forget that she’s Joe’s, but touches her anyway, a small hand on her shoulder, a brush of his fingertips across her cheek, pushing her hair behind her ears. She comes to him and lets him hug her, lets Paul hug her, and Jacob swells under her warmth, under her weight, like he’s meeting somebody famous, which he guesses, he kind of is.

***

Joe talks about Sarah in a hushed voice behind the dirty glass of the prison visiting room. He plans and plots and organizes, and he never uses her name, calling her The One That Got Away, The One, The One, The One, his unfinished business, his half-written novel.

Jacob has never been a writer, but he understands the sentiment, understands the words that fall from Joe’s tongue, understands the devotion he feels, the utter awe with which he gazes upon Joe, his love for him like the love he feels for the knife.

Joe understands, too, which is why he lets Jacob move in with Paul, why he lets them move in closer, why he trusts them with her.

Joe understands.

***

Paul has told him about the dreams he has sometimes, but it’s usually quick and painful, a biting explanation against Jacob’s shoulder or neck, Paul’s lips raw and bleeding, marring Jacob’s pale skin.

The dreams are the same, always the same, and Paul has been having them since he was thirteen, a scared, lonely child, still wetting the bed at night and getting the belt for it. Jacob would call him a cliché, if Joe didn’t teach them how to feign compassion, understanding, in even the most intimate situations, with even themselves.

Paul dreams of women and he dreams of blood and he dreams Joe’s dreams, slicing and stabbing, and the sexual release in it, the utter orgasm that comes with such power. Paul thrusts against Jacob and Jacob lifts himself to press back, press closer, his neck long and thin, his head tilting back, Paul’s mouth on him.

Paul dreams the dreams that even Jacob has sometimes, even Emma has, although they’re each a little different, each a little personalized. Paul dreams the dreams that Joe has, and Jacob guesses that that’s why he joined them in the first place, because he finally found someone that wasn’t disgusted with him, that loved him for who he was and not who he pretended to be.

Jacob guesses that that’s why they all joined.

Paul pushes against Jacob, harder this time, his teeth sharp, and Jacob lays flat against the bed, and Paul says words that are, but aren’t quite, I Love You.

***

Jacob lies because he has to.

He can kill, he wants to kill, wants to feel the knife weighted in his palm, feel it slice through flesh, feel the blood on his skin, wet and heavy and thick. He wants it, as much as they all want it, but he’s only close to being there, to touching it and tasting it, only close to being able to let himself go.

Joe calls him a late bloomer, and it’s not unkind, but it’s not exactly supportive, either. Of course, Joe doesn’t have to tell him that most serial killers start when they’re young, with dogs and cats and then on to their mother or father or neighbor or girlfriend, doesn’t have to tell him that he’s missed his formative years, that he’s getting a little old, because Jacob’s read all the books, watched all the films, and he knows, like Joe knows, that he’s behind.

“You’ll get there,” Joe says, his voice swallowed by the cacophony of the prison. “You’ll grow.”

Joe smiles, and Jacob’s heart swells.

***

He tells Paul, and flirts with the idea of telling Emma, whispering it softly against the space between her shoulder blades, but decides against it, decides to keep it a secret, and maybe that’s because he doesn’t want to watch her face shutter in disappointment, or maybe that’s because he doesn’t want her to leave him, leave him with Paul and their empty shell of a plan.

Paul takes the lie as a declaration of love, and Jacob never corrects him.

***

They fuck, and this is how they are, how they will be, until they take Joey.

Jacob says this over and over again, panting in the space between their pillows, Paul’s fingers threaded through his own, gripping tight and tighter and tighter, talking about the farmhouse and using words that are, but aren’t quite, Joe’s.

The farmhouse is their conclusion, their endgame, and Paul knows this, knows this because Joe has drilled it into their heads from the moment he started planning this whole sequel. Jacob is Emma’s and Emma is Jacob’s and they will train and teach and parent Joey to respect his father, maybe even more than they do, to love him until Joe can collect him, can start his family over again.

The farmhouse is their denouement.

Paul knows this, knows this maybe even more than Jacob does.


End file.
